The Last Consulting Detective
by TheSherlockedDoctorReturns
Summary: John is doing his best to get on with out Sherlock. Is there a possibility that Sherlock still lives?
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had made the perfect couple. Or, they would have made the perfect couple. People would make big eyes at them in the street, making John blush. It didn't seem like Sherlock gave a damn though. He would just walk on with his coat color turned upSizing dose many ways John and Sherlock would have been the perfect couple. But whenever John heard of this, he would turn a bright red and fiercely defend himself. But despite this, John did love Sherlock. Sadly there was one ginormous problem, and about twenty small ones. But the main problem was Sherlock was dead. John had taken his death badly to say the least. He had been shut out from the world for about a year, and was ready to commit suicide, if Lestrade had not stopped him. He missed Sherlock more then anything, and he rementire confident that Sherlock was not a fake and that Moriarty was real, despite what everybody said. Lestrade had asked John to start taking the some cases. John would never be as good as Sherlock. Nobody would ever be as good as Sherlock. But he did ok. He used everything that Sherlock had tought him, and he actually did ok.

It was only a few days ago that Lestrade had come to him with a case. He had solved the case, he was positive, but there was a not that he could not read. John had gone pale at the sight of the letter. It was written in blood, but that was not the only reason. He told Lestrade that he would work on it. Then sat down to the letter.

7/1/1861

Nz efbs Kpio Xbtpo

J lopy ipx ibse ju jt gps zp zpv Kvtu ep nf b gbxps

SFNFNCFS NF

John looked at the letter, then slowly began to dissect it.

Hamish. Somebody who knew his middle name must have wrote it for him. Clearly not the dead woman, so it was not a suicide note.

Yankees. What does that mean? Yankees. A NY baseball team that John did not follow or care about. Yankees. The name for the men on the north in the civil war.

7/1/1861 1861- civil war 7-july 1-first day of the month.

Yankees. 1861. Military related. Coincidence? John knew a few codes from the military and tried them out. But the note didn't make sense. He went to the computer and looked up codes used in the civil war for the north. The Freemasons. He followed the steps. The had 7/1/ one was the first day of the month so the second line on the chart. He slowly began to translate the letter.

My dear John Watson

I know it is hard for you Just do me a favor

REMEMBER ME


	2. Graveside Confession

John paced the flat. This was not the first strange letter he had received. He had received a birthday card from an anonymous well hadn't paid much attention. The card had contained a CD with a single song on it. The card had all of the lyrics written on it, and John hatted the song, but loved it at the same time. He often cried while listening to it. It reminded him to stay strong. The Rascal Flats were not a very well known band, but John did like this one song, Stand.

John sat down in his chair, head in his hands. He felt very nervous._ What if Sherlock really was alive? Where was he? What had he been doing? Was he ok? _John thought he would go see Lestrade tomorrow. Now though, he was going to go see Sherlock. If it was him. He pulled on his coat and blue scarf. It had been Snerlocks once, but he had kept it. He smiled slightly. He knew what Sherlock would say. _"Bloody sentiment."_

John hailed a cab, and went to the cemetery. He walked to Sherlocks grave. Hard packed snow crunched under his feet. He stood looking at the grave for a minute, lost in though. Then he sat down, and leaned his head against the stone. Then he started talking.

"I know you can hear me Sherlock. Or you Mycroft. I know Sherlock isn't dead. So either Sherlock can listen know, or Mycroft can pass on the message. Either way, you know what Iv been through, and it hasn't been easy. I know that you had your reasons Sherlock, but they had better be fucking good. Because if they arnt, I will retake the liberty of killing you myself the very next time I see you. It's almost Christmas Sherlock. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I remember our last Christmas. Do you? I hope you haven't deleted it. We had fun The next day when nobody was around, running around, throwing snowballs. You looked so happy then, so carefree."

Johns voice cracked at this point, and a tear escaped and slid down his cheek as he remembered that Christmas day. He sighed. He missed Sherlock so much.

"I would stay longer here Sherlock, but my arse is getting quite cold from sitting on the ground for so long." He smiled and stood up, getting ready to walk away, then turned back to the grave quickly.

"You know that I haven't been with anybody in three years, and you know why. I'm also sorry I didn't tell you when you were here with me, I suppose I was to shy to say anything. I thought you would leave me. Sherlock bloody Holmes, I love you."

John gave a decisive nod, then walked away.

Mycroft stared at his computer screen, blinking. How could he have missed something so obvious? He had teased Sherlock and John about being a couple, but he had never actually thought that one might _like _the other. He sighed. He didn't know what had made John think that Sherlock was alive again. His brothers death had effected him as well. He just had a different way of showing it. He sighed. John hadn't really recovered. The flat was left in the same state as it was when Sherlock left. John had done nothing to fix up the flat, and was very put out when Mrs. Hudson had fixed the wall where Sherlock had shot it. He honestly would have loved to pass the not on to his brother. The only problem was, Sherlock was dead, facts were facts.

* * *

John walked up the stairs to his door. He shoved random things out of the way as he walked to the couch. Leaving the flat the way it was when Sherlock was there, helped John. It made him feel as if he were still there. Sometimes he woke up very early in the morning, imagining he had heard music from Sherlocks violin. He would rush down, but nobody would be there.

John had a light super, then went to bed. He decided that he might try to get a small social life, and attend Lestrades Christmas party the next day.

* * *

**So! Hello! I have some lovely ideas for my readers! lots of exciting...Stuff... I thought I'd leave y'all at a cliff hanger cause I'm mean. But the next chapter will be postEd in about a day because I am very eager to write it. Pleas review! I love to hear my readers feedback! Ideas/compliments/complaints are all appreciated! Thank you!**


	3. Christmas Dream

When John awoke the next morning, he got up and fixed two cups of tea. He always left one out for Sherlock, and it was always there when he got back from work. He had a couple of biscuits before he got into the shower and got ready for work. He said goodbye to the empty flat, then walked out the door.

He arrived at the hospital a little early as usual. Sarah was already there.

"Good morning John!"

"Mornin Sarah."

"How are you feeling? You look tired."

"I'm fine."

"Oh. Okay. Well, if you need anything, let me know."

"Sure."

He felt slightly bad for not conversing with her that much anymore, but he had bigger things on his mind. First of all, he had to get through today. It was a pity they hadn't cancelled work for Christmas. Or maybe it was best. Sometimes John couldn't stand the flat without Sherlock.

Patient after patient came in. He examined them. Some patients who came in were very rude. Sometimes he got annoyed at patients because they bothered him when there was nothing wrong with them. He knew it wasn't their fault though. He was just grouchy.

He pulled his coat on at the end of the day, and bid Sarah a hasty good bye, and merry Christmas, before going to Scotland Yard. It had started snowing again. Very fast.

* * *

Lestrade was at his desk, eating a donut and coffee, enjoying the warmth of his office and the few minutes of quiet, when he was interrupted by an officer at the door.

"Sir! There's a man downstairs. He is acting very crazy."

Lestrade licked the chocolate calmly off of his fingers. "Not my division." He shrugged.

"Sir, he says he knows you."

"Oh? Well I don't think I know any crazy people. Nope. That was a lie. I know plenty."

"He says his name is John Watson, sir."

"What? He's not crazy!"

"We didn't think so at first, but he didn't have an appointment or any proof he knew you, so we didn't let him in. When we said no, he started going off about some bloke, Sherlock Holmes I think he said, still being alive he said to-"

"HE SAID WHAT?" Lestrade roared, spilling coffee all over himself.

"I'm sorry sir. I didn't mean to upset you."

"No no. I acted...strangely... Show him in."

The answer was true. He had no idea why he had yelled. He wasn't mad, just slightly confused. He started hoping. John walked into the room a bit red faced from the hassle downstairs. The DI didn't look to much better with coffee down the front of his shirt, a half eaten donut in his hand, and chocolate around his mouth.

"John! You've seen Sherlock?"

"Well, no. But I think he's alive."

Lestrade sat down then, crestfallen. "What makes you say that?"

"The note you gave to me to de-code. I figured it out. I was from Sherlock."

"John. I'm so sorry. But there's no proof. You shouldn't waste your life searching for a dead man."

"I always thought of you as a friend Lestrade. You know how much he meant to me. And now you tell me that I shouldn't waste my life trying to find the best man that iv ever known, who might not be dead? I'm disappointed Lestrade. I expected better from you."

John was about an inch away from Lestrade, glaring daggers at him. The DI held up his hands quickly in defense. It was not going to make him made. "Your right. I'm sorry John. I don't know what you would want me to do about it anyway. Why don't you leave it alone for awhile? Enjoy Christmas. Come back when you've settled down, and we can talk. You'll come to your senses."

"Be happy...have...no. No. I can't... Christmas, Sherlock, he's..." John was almost in tears. He couldn't believe Lestrade was acting so stupid. "Thank you Lestrade for your help. I'm most certainly NOT coming to your party this evening. I'll spend it with the only person who has any sense. With my, ah, not currently available best friend."

Lestrade sighed as John stormed out of the door. _John will come to his senses. He's a goos man. He always does. _He sighed again, and went back to his donut.

John looked desperately around for a cab. After standing around in the freezing cold for 20 minutes, he realized he could just take the tube. He was in a bitter mood, and the crowded tube didn't enlighten his mood any. He dearly hoped that Mrs. Hudson would have some nice warm Christmas treat for him. The snow was melting, leaving him soaking and cold. He shivered.

When he arrived at Baker Street, it was eerily quiet. The street was deserted, and it looked so peaceful. He trudged along in the snow. His feet were going numb.

When he reached the door, there was a not stuck to it.

_John,_

_ I am going out for the night. If you need anything, just call. Have fun at Lestrades! I would have asked you to come with me, but I didn't think that you would have liked to be stuck with a bunch of old ladies. Merry Christmas! Xo -Mrs. Hudson._

John groaned. No cookies for him! No nice heated flat. John miserable opened the door. It was cold in the entry way, but he took his socks, shoes, coat, and shirt off, and hung the wet clothes over the banister. As he hung them up, he realized something was wrong. He was warm! And it smelt good. It smelt like when he was a kid, his mom baking all of the traditional dishes for a Christmas dinner. It smelt and felt so good. He closed his eyes. He heard music as well. Thank The Lord for Mrs. Hudson. This was exactly what he needed. He pulled his jumper back over his head even though it was wet. He had to look at least a little descent for her. He climbed the stairs, smiling. When he opened the doors to his flat, he couldn't believe his eyes. The whole room had been cleaned. There were candles all over the place, casting a warm glow around the room. The fireplace was on, and the table was set properly for once. There was a Christmas tree in the corner, decorated with lights and silver bulbs. The flat smelled delicious, and the whole scene made him tear up. He was slightly sad to see the flat cleaned though. He supposed he could just mess it up later. Mrs. Hudson was nowhere to be seen though. John walked to the window, and looked out.

"God bless you Mrs. Hudson. You knew exactly what I needed. Thank you for this. I don't know what I would do without you. I love you so much, I could bloody kiss you." John remained standing at the wi Dow waiting for a reply. It was only then did John realize the flat was silent. He waited for Mrs. Hudson to reply, only she never did. He walked over to the fireplace, and gazed in. Memories folded into his brain and brought tears to his eyes. He didn't hear the person behind him. He felt arms wrap the selfs around his shoulders, and he turned his head, expecting to see Mrs. Hudson. Instead, he saw black curly hair, and shinning eyes, and a deep baritone voice whispered in his ear. "Must Mrs. Hudson get all of the credit? It was me who did this after all. Does that mean you could kiss me too?"

A light smile was playing around Sherlocks lips, and John could have bloody kissed him then and there. Sherlock looked like an angel. The light from the fire made him look even more beautiful, if that was possible. John reached out and touched Sherlocks face. Years were running down his face. He had had dreams like this before. And it was always at the part where he finally saw Sherlock, that he woke up. And he was quite sad indeed.


End file.
